3637 


Saint   Francis,    -}i1.nt    g  nd 

.Saint  James  . 


by 

John  Milton  Scott. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


Gift 


SAINT  FRANCIS 
SAINT  SCRAGGLES 
SAINT  JAMES 


v  k  y 


SAINT  FRANCIS 

SAINT  SCRAGGLES  AND 

SAINT  JAMES 

BY 

JOHN  MILTON  SCOTT 

Author  of 

"Kindly  Light,"  "I  Am," 
"The  Grail,"  Etc. 


Perhaps  it  may  turn  out  a  sang. 
Perhaps,  turn  out  a  sermon. — BURNS. 


RADIANT  LIFE  PRESS 

iog8  N.  Raymond  Ave. 

PASADENA,    CAL. 


COPYRIGHT  1916 

BY 
EDITH  E.  FARNSWORTH 


512(5 


TO 

GEORGE  WHARTON  JAMES 
IN  LOVE  WITH  HIS  LOVE  FOR  ALL  LIVES  THAT  LIVE, 

BE  IT  WILD  OR  TAME, 
BE  IT  BIRD  OR  BEAST  OR  MAN, 

BE  IT  CHRIST  OR  GOD 

WHOSE  JOYOUS  LIFE  EMBOSOMS  AND  LIVES 

WITH  ALL  OTHER  LIVES, 

THIS  SERMON  IN  SONG, 

WITHOUT  HIS   PERMISSION, 

FROM  HIS  FRIEND, 
JOHN  MILTON  SCOTT. 


501912 


SAINT  FRANCIS 
SAINT  SCRAGGLES  AND  SAINT  JAMES 


NT  FRANCIS,  Saint  Scraggles  and  Saint  James! 
o  each  on  my  altar  a  candle  flames. 


Jnt  Francis,  a  monk,  of  the  centuried  fame ; 
^  4paint  Scraggles,  a  sparrow  which  fitted  her  name ; 

%  Saint  James,  a  mountain-like-measured  man, 
Whom  sometimes  I  call  El  Capitan 

After  the  mountain  he  loves  so  well, 

And  which  takes  his  measure,  the  wise  ones  tell. 

II. 

Saint  Francis  was  born  where  Assisi  smiles 
On  vineyards  whose  purple  the  heart  beguiles, 

Making  it  think  of  Him,  the  Vine, 
Who  gives  His  blood  in  the  Holy  Wine, 

That  the  Holy  Ghost  in  perpetual  fire 
Burn  out  of  the  soul  every  base  desire. 

[5] 


m. 

Saint  James  opened  his  Norman  eyes 
Where  the  blue  of  the  Saxon  haunts  the  skies ; 

Where,  with  rippling  wings,  the  lark  upmns 
To  sing  the  souls  out  of  English  suns, 

Dropping  them  over  the  wide,  green  meads 
In  notes  that  fall  like  some  sower's  seeds, 

That  they  hallow  the  hearts  of  the  English  boys 
With  regardful  reverence  for  all  bird- joys, 

Making  each  life  which  the  wing-flight  wears 
As  holy  as  altars  from  which  lift  prayers. 

IV. 

Saint  Scraggles  was  born  in  Syracuse 

Where  the  lake  laughs  green  and  the  sky  smiles  blues, 

Where  through  the  uglying  dust  is  seen 

The  beauty  of  trees  with  refreshing  green; — 

Came  through  an  egg  'neath  a  bird- warm  breast ; — 
But  a  storm-fate  tumbled  her  out  of  the  nest, — 

Out  of  the  nest  on  the  cold,  wet  ground, 

Where  a  kinder  than  storms  the  wrecked  bird  found, — 

Out  of  the  nest  which  was  blown  apart, 
She  tumbled  into  Saint  James 's  heart. 

V. 

Out  of  the  mystery  gates  of  birth 

Came  forth  these  three  to  hallow  our  earth. 

[6] 


Though  leagues  apart  their  birth-towns  be, 
And  raging  between  them  wild  leagues  of  sea, 

And  wilder  centuries  dividing  their  years ; 
Yet  are  they  one  in  my  love  that  cheers 

When  the  Christ  of  Love  in  joy  is  heard 
Voicing  His  life  in  beast  or  bird. 

As  out  of  Life's  wonder  and  mystery, 

With  beauty  and  joy,  come  these  happy  three 

Into  my  heart,  whose  thoughts  brood  wrongs, 
They  bless  it  and  make  it  fit  for  songs. 

VI. 

Saint  Francis,  you  know,  was  the  preacher  of  birds, 
And  preached  to  them  love  in  its  gospel  words ; 

And  his  monks  he  bad  the  good  news  preach, 
That  the  Love  of  God  is  a  love  for  each ; 

As  man's  burden  of  sin  each  wild  life  bears, 
In  man's  redemption  each  wild  life  shares; 

And  all  wild  things,  wearing  wings  or  feet, 
To  the  Heart  of  God  in  Christ  are  sweet. 

vn. 

So  flocked  all  birds  to  his  boughs  to  hear ; 
The  wolves  and  the  foxes,  also,  near. 

All,  all!  were  under  his  spell  of  love 

While  the  dear  monk  spake  in  tones  of  the  dove, 

And  saw  that  his  gospel  had  Pentecost 
As  it  burned  in  all,  not  a  wild  soul  lost. 

[7] 


The  wolf  and  the  lamb  together  played ; 
The  hawk  and  the  dove  in  one  love  prayed ; 

And  sang  they  in  chorus  to  Christ,  their  Lord, 
Not  a  note  left  out,  and  no  discord. 

The  wolf's  voice  toned  like  an  organ  pipe; 
And  the  hawk  sang  sweet  as  are  berries  ripe ; 

While  the  monk's  voice  led  in  an  angel-tone; 
And  God  sang,  too,  from  His  Great  White  Throne. 

All  the  earth  was  stilled,  all  the  earth  was  filled 
With  that  love  which  God  at  first  had  willed. 

VIII. 

Lo!  there  comes  about  the  good  saint's  brow 
A  circle  of  bird-wings,  haloing  now ; 

The  red  and  the  gold,  the  brown  and  the  gray 
In  the  bright  of  love  and  its  joy  outray. 

"No  more  will  slay  or  beak  or  tooth, 

For  the  good  monk's  words  are  the  gospel  truth," 

They  circling  sing  as  the  saint's  rapt  eyes 
Sees  the  Christ's  glad  face  behind  the  skies ; 

And  leading  them  all  went  Saint  Mockingbird, 
For  he  heavened  in  song  each  wild  note  heard ; 

And  upon  Saint  Francis's  heaving  breast 
The  sparrows  with  hymns  of  rapture  rest 

In  memory  of  one  in  whose  song  the  tryst 
Was  kept  by  God  with  His  lonely  Christ. 

[8] 


IX. 


When  the  Galilee  sparrow  to  Christ  had  sung, 
It  seemed  God's  silence  had  found  a  tongue 

To  say  that  the  earth  is  lying  yet 

In  the  Bosom  of  Love,  no  need  to  fret ; 

There  are  no  least  wings  that  droop  in  death 
Beyond  the  breathings  of  Love's  sweet  breath; 

In  all  the  earth  no  littlest  one 

Through  the  shadowed  way  alone  has  gone ; 

The  Eternal  Father  meaneth  our  earth 
To  enwomb  all  lives  for  a  blessed  birth; — 

0  sparrow !  to  Him  you  sang  that  day, 
This  in  my  heart,  this  holy  lay, — 

That  without  the  Father  no  least  of  us  all 
Can  beneath  death's  arrow  in  agony  fall. 

X. 

In  many  a  heart  that  song  still  sings 
Gentling  to  brothers  of  feet  and  wings, 

To  make  loving  kindness  a  holy  shrine 
Where  bird  and  beast  and  the  Christ  divine 

And  the  heart  of  man  have  a  meeting  place, 
Where  abides  the  smile  of  God's  white  grace, — 

An  altar  which  after  these  centuried  years 
Between  earth  and  heaven  a  pathway  clears, 


Whereon  are  burning  my  candles 's  flames 

To  Saint  Francis,  Saint  Scraggles  and  Saint  James. 

It  was  through  that  heartway,  from  storm-tost  nest, 
Saint  Scraggles  homed  in  Saint  James's  breast. 

XL 

Saint  James's  young  heart  caught  the  Wesley  fire, 
And  burned  in  the  gospel  of  white  desire, 

That  Christ's  free  grace  within  every  man 
Might  into  the  flame  of  salvation  fan. 

The  free-grace  gospel  he  preached  to  all, 
Fervidest  to  whom  did  the  lowest  fall. 

But  a  wider  love  than  his  church  had  known 

On  the  winds  of  the  Spirit  was  through  him  blown, — 

God  not  alone  between  roofs  and  floors ; 

He  was  God  of  the  birds  and  the  Great  Out  Doors. 

XII. 

Then  a  storm,  like  that  which  Saint  Scraggles  tost ! 
Church,  friends  and  home  and  all  seemed  lost. 

Though  he  faltered  some,  he  refused  to  fail, 
And  gave  the  dark  fate  a  brave  good  hail. 

Perhaps  in  his  heart  sang  an  English  lark 
With  the  song  of  a  sunbeam  lighting  his  dark ; 

As,  perhaps,  the  sparrow  whom  Christ  heard  sing 
Made  on  His  cross  some  comforting. 


[101 


XIII. 

As  men  grew  fierce,  the  wild  beasts  tamed; 
To  the  heart  of  this  man  their  wild  eyes  flamed 

With  the  light  of  a  love  like  Christ's  white  peace, 
Giving  his  heart  from  its  ache  surcease. 

With  wild  bears  playing  when  the  starlight  fell, 
He  found  in  them  more  of  heaven  than  hell. 

The  wildest  wolf  to  his  hand  grew  still, 

And  man  and  beast  were  of  Christ's  good  will. 

He  love-called  lions  till  they  replied 
In  tones  as  soft  as  a  silk-toned  bride ; 

And  each  wild  thing  of  wing  or  fang 

In  his  presence  leaped  and  smiled  and  sang.  * 

He  found,  when  in  love  to  the  wild  he  cried, 
In  love  for  love  they  in  joy  replied; 

And  so,  when  Saint  Scraggles  needed  a  shrine, 
Where  could  he  find  one  more  divine? 

XIV. 

On  what  far  highways  must  journey  feet 
Sent  from  God's  heart  on  our  earth  to  meet? 

How  far  from  God's  heart  to  Syracuse? 

Why  there  for  the  meeting  did  the  good  God  choose? 

Why,  when  suns  darkened  and  wild  storms  rushed, 
When  in  fear  and  dread  sweet  singings  hushed? 


*The    story    of    these    references    is    told    In    Georg-e    Wharton 
James's  book,  "Love's  Power  Over  Wild  Animals." 

[11] 


Why  in  a  Scraggles,  outcast  of  the  street, 

Did  the  Christ  of  the  sparrow  his  Christ-man  meet? 

"Beauty  to  beauty"  is  our  mad  world's  creed ; 
But  the  Gospel  of  Christ  is  ''Need  unto  need"; 

And  which  of  them  needed  the  other  most, 
The  man  or  the  bird,  knows  the  Holy  Ghost. 

In  the  Heaven  of  Love,  the  undefiled, 
Or  led  by  a  bird  or  led  by  a  child, 

It  matters  not  to  God  and  His  Son, 

So  that  love  is  lived,  so  that  love  is  done. 

XV. 

Reverently  Scraggles  was  taken  up 
As  if  she  had  been  the  communion  cup, 

The  blood  in  her  heart,  in  memory  of  Him 
Who  shrines  in  a  bird  or  the  Seraphim. 

She  was  tenderly  borne  to  the  warm  and  the  dry 
Where  human  love  was  her  sunny  sky, 

Where  human  care  made  such  down-soft  nest 
That  she  never  missed  the  mother-breast. 

So  the  home  and  the  man  and  the  writing  hand 
Was  as  fair  to  the  bird  as  the  green  earth,  spanned 

By  the  blue  of  the  sky  and  its  wild  sweet  breeze ; 
For  to  Scraggles  the  face  of  the  man  was  these. 

XVI. 

She  had  all  of  the  house  for  her  bird-free  will, 
Or  on  table  or  bed  or  on  window  sill ; 


But  loved  on  the  writing-hand  to  perch 
As  if  for  the  reason  of  wings  she'd  search ; 

As  if  she  would  find  through  that  Christ-highway 
The  summer  where  darkens  no  stormy  day ; 

Where  life  has  never  a  shadowing, 

And  blights  no  death  to  wither  a  wing, — 

To  hush  a  song  in  the  discord  dread 
Which  aches  for  the  ones  we  call  the  dead. 

XVII. 

Just  love  in  the  heart  and  all  life  abliss 
And  a  Father  heart,  and  a  face  like  this ; — 

Like  this!  0  bird;  so  glows  Love's  Face, 
Or  it  shine  on  a  bird  or  on  man's  disgrace! 

For  Christ  came  to  earth  with  His  Face  Divine 
That  in  brother  faces  we  see  it  shine, 

And  know  that  the  God  in  humanity 
Is  the  only  God  we  serve  and  see ; 

That  the  heart  of  a  child  enshrines  God's  grace 
And  His  Face  is  smiling  within  its  face ; 

That  a  mother-heart  holds  His  motherhood 
Wherein  we  know  that  He 's  kind  and  good. 

XVIII. 

Through  the  ways  of  the  world  I  bravely  go ; 
For  their  darkest  end  His  face  will  show ; 


113] 


And  it  shall  be  as  my  mother's  when 
I've  wanted  naught  but  its  smile  again; 

It  shall  look  at  me  with  my  mother's  eyes 
Alight  with  the  Love  that  never  dies. 

XIX. 

With  many  a  love-call,  day  or  night, 
And  many  a  play  of  high  delight, 

For  man  and  bird  the  days  went  by 
As  if  the  world  had  forgot  to  sigh. 

XX. 

0  unsolved  riddle!  0  love's  black  loss! 
On  the  hills  of  Love  for  aye  Love's  cross ! 

What  heart  could  not  do,  though  the  whole  world  end, 
Befell  from  the  man  to  his  sweet  bird  friend. 

An  accident  dire  of  the  tragic  kind, 

And  the  eyes  of  Saint  Scraggles  in  death  went  blind ; 

And  the  heart  of  the  man  went  full  of  tears, 
Which  moisten  his  eyes  in  these  after  years ; 

And  oft  as  the  busy  duties  still, 

He  sings  as  his  memory  works  its  will ; 

"These  clumsy  feet  still  in  the  mire 

Go  crushing  blossoms  without  end! 

These  harsh  well-meaning  hands  we  thrust 
Among  the  heart-strings  of  a  friend! 

Earth  holds  no  balsam  for  mistakes!" 

[14] 


0  human  heart  that  sobs  and  breaks, 
There  comes  a  balsam  from  the  skies, 
Death's  death  is  in  the  dear  Christ's  eyes! 

XXI. 

Have  birds  in  the  Sky  of  skies  some  spread 
To  fly  and  sing,  "There  are  no  dead!" 

Then  Scraggles  sings  for  her  friend  below, 
That  in  love  and  joy  his  feet  may  go 

Till  his  steps  through  the  winding  ways  complete 
Where  the  Christ  in  men  and  in  sparrows  meet. 

Be  that  as  it  is !  we  hope  to  find 

Somewhere  in  God's  vast  the  true  and  the  kind. 

XXII. 

The  grave  of  Scraggles  is  billowed  where 
Or  snows  or  flowers  make  the  billow  fair ; 

While  Saint  James  lives  in  a  sunny  clime 

Where  the  days  are  song  and  the  hours  are  rhyme ; 

But  never  his  feet  to  yond  city  go, 

But  at  the  grave  of  Saint  Scraggles  they  softly  slow. 

What  's  then  in  the  heart  of  this  giant  man? 
"God's  love  is  greater  than  scheme  or  plan? 

Christ  and  sparrows  make  a  heart's  highway 
Where  'tis  better  to  love  than  in  fear  to  pray ; 

Where  e'en  to  a  sparrow  a  kindness  done 
Makes  the  joy  of  God  to  our  sad  earth  run? 

[15] 


Will  we  hear  at  last  in  Christ's  sweet  words, 
'Ye've  done  to  me  what  ye've  done  to  birds? 

No  tiniest  deed  of  love  is  lost, 

In  the  joy  of  kind  hearts,  my  Pentecost?'  " 

XXIII. 

0  never  the  hunter's  way  he  goes! 
And  never  he  bruises  a  life  with  blows ! 

He  loves  on  their  stems  the  flowers  fair ; 
He  loves  the  birds  in  their  native  air ; 

He  loves  the  beasts  in  their  forests  wild ; 
He  loves  man,  woman  and  every  child ; 

He  honors  as  holy  each  other  life, 

As  the  kiss  of  a  child  or  the  kiss  of  a  wife ; 

His  religion,  to  make  all  cruelty  less ; 
And  his  joy  in  God,  to  relieve  distress. 

Tis  in  kindness  done  the  heavens  shine, 
And  we  find  in  man  the  Christ  Divine. 

On  the  wound  of  a  beast  a  kind  hand  laid 
Shares  the  joy  of  God  when  that  beast  He  made ; 

And  to  helping  a  bird  to  its  nest  again 
The  angels  of  God  chant  a  sweet  "Amen" ! 

XXIV. 

Can  you  see  how  are  one  the  far  and  the  near, 
Saint  Francis's  sermon,  Saint  James's  tear? 

lie] 


That  the  Christ  whose  heart  on  Calvary  bleeds 
Feels  the  humblest  sparrow's  aching  needs? 

Saint  Francis,  Saint  Scraggles,  Saint  James  and  you 
Somehow  at  the  heart  of  the  mystery  true 

Which  loves  in  the  Christ  and  loves  in  the  bird, 
In  each,  made  flesh,  Divine  Love's  word? 

So  you  see  why  my  altar  burns  and  flames 

To  Saint  Francis,  Saint  Scraggles  and  Saint  James ; 

Its  candles,  the  lives  of  the  greatest,  least 
Of  my  sisters,  bird,  or  my  brothers,  beast? 

0  my  heart  unto  wonderful  worship  flies 
When  I  look  in  a  bird's  or  a  beast's  bright  eyes ! 

XXV. 

With  such  love  in  my  heart,  such  light  in  my  eye ; — 
Yet  the  priest  and  the  Levite,  they  pass  me  by ; 

And  a  churchless,  creedless  brother  I  roam; 
And  not  e'en  to  God  will  my  feet  fleet  home 

Till  He  tells  me  true,  that  each  He's  made 
And  set  in  the  ways  of  shine  and  shade 

Shall  at  last  find  home  in  some  holy  bliss, — 
0  churches  of  men,  you  deny  me  this ! 

XXVI. 

But,  Church  of  the  Living  Christ,  you  give 
This,  the  Holy  Faith  by  which  I  live 

[17] 


In  a  world  of  strife  where  each  man's  foe, 
Where  the  joy  of  one  is  another's  woe; — 

You  give  it  in  every  wild  bird's  flight, 

And  the  God  in  the  sparrow  is  my  heart's  light. 

So  taught  the  Christ  of  the  Great  White  Love, 
And  God's  smile  in  His  heart  was  the  Holy  Dove. 

This  love  has  its  joy  in  the  everywhere, 

In  the  laugh  of  a  child  and  the  saint's  white  prayer; 

In  the  song  of  a  bird,  in  the  chant  of  a  sea ; 
In  the  wide  sky's  winds  and  their  melody; 

In  the  love  of  my  horse  that  can  only  neigh, 
And  the  meadowing  lamb  that  can  only  play. 

Oh,  there  in  my  mother's  eyes,  its  sheen! 
In  her  face  of  love,  'tis  God  I've  seen! 

XXVII. 

Earth-lonely  I  walk,  that  in  all,  that  in  each 
I  hear  some  words  of  Divine  Love's  speech; 

Assuring  me  that  no  least  life  fails, 

That  no  hopeless  man  in  a  harsh  hell  wails ; 

Publicans,  harlots  and  failured  men, 
Heartless  and  cruel,  yet  like  Magdalen, 

They  see  themselves  as  they  ought  to  be 
And  passion  through  Christ  that  majesty; — 

The  women  and  men  of  the  darkest  sin, 

Whose  feet  with  the  husks  and  the  swine  have  been ; 

[18] 


Who  the  hollow  ways  of  uncleanness  tread, 
Till  the  pure  in  heart  must  call  them  dead, — 

Assuring  me  that  in  such  as  these 
God's  Love,  at  last,  His  own  child  frees; 

As  through  muck  and  mire  come  lilies  bright, 
So  these  shall  walk  with  God  in  white ; 

That  there  be  no  lowest  hell  that  aches, 
But  the  Love  of  Christ  it's  dark  deep  takes 

In  such  holy  beauty,  that  every  line 

In  the  truth  of  God  and  His  love  doth  shine ; 

That  there  be  no  lowest  hell  of  shame 

That  will  not  grow  clean  in  Love's  white  flame. 

XXVIII. 

Lonely  I  walk  that  my  vision  see 
In  every  man  the  Christ  to  be ; 

No  meanest  atom  escape  the  fire 
That  purifies  in  the  Christ-desire, 

Transfigured  the  very  garment's  stain 

As  the  Christ-earth's  lives  their  perfect  gain; 

My  altar,  Creation,  whose  candle  rays 

Are  suns  and  stars  as  my  bowed  heart  prays ; — 

On  the  self -same  altar  the  glow  worm's  fire, 
The  least  of  the  birds  in  the  worship-choir ; 

No  human  chord  from  the  music  mist 

As  God's  dear  heart  with  our  praise  is  kist. 

[19] 


Where'er  is  love,  God's  grace  is  there; 
Holier  its  joy  than  the  fear's  dark  prayer! 

XXIX. 

Something  like  this  through  these  men  and  the  bird 
Has  the  deepest  heart  of  me  gladly  heard. 

Something  like  this  is  the  heart  of  me, 
When  I  think  of  my  God  so  blissf  ully, 

That  in  the  bright  joy  of  Him,  I  can 
Think  only  in  love  of  my  brother-man ; 

Think  of  all  life  with  a  tenderness, 

That  yearns  them  freedom  from  all  distress ; 

And  knows  that  the  Christ  of  men  is  true 
To  each  bird  that  out  of  His  Wisdom  flew ; 

To  each  beast  that  out  of  His  Wisdom  walks ; 
All  things  the  speech  which  His  Love-Heart  talks. 

He  is  speaking  these  men,  this  bird  and  me ; 
And  His  eloquent  heart  will  never  be 

At  the  end  of  His  words  until  we  are 
More  perfect  than  sun  or  flaming  star ; 

As  perfect  as  He  in  His  heavens  bright, 
Giving  a  soul  or  a  firefly  light. 

XXX. 

When  all  are  just  to  each  life  that  breathes, 
The  sword  of  the  wicked  war-wrath  sheathes ; 


[20] 


ii'  Ti    I     i1T      i  Hinprig^  -^•fe^ag^^aESg^-^a 


When  our  voices  are  gentle  on  every  breeze, 
Our  acts,  a  beauty  which  each  eye  sees ; 

When  our  love  embosoms  the  broken  reed 
And  gives  to  each  vine  its  fruited  meed ; 

When  we  hallow  among  all  living  things, 

As  the  angels  through  heaven  on  love-bright  wings,- 

Oh,  then,  is  rainbowed  all  dark  complaints, 
And  Joy  with  its  aureole  tells  we're  saints; 

But  no  mirror  in  heaven  or  earth  can  show 
To  the  eyes  that  wear  it  that  hallowed  glow ; 

Our  face  looks  away  from  our  heart  that  we 
Light  up  the  dark  that  the  lost  may  see ; 

Light  up  the  path  that  the  lost  may  trace 
Their  way  to  the  Face  that's  behind  the  face. 

XXXI. 

0  dear  are  we  all  to  the  Christ  who  heard 
His  Father  sing  in  the  plainest  bird ! 

And  dear  to  the  God  in  whose  bosom  all 
In  the  rapture  of  life,  at  last  must  fall. 

Unto  this,  on  my  altar  through  days  and  nights 
Glows  every  life  that  God's  heart  lights; — 

So,  do  you  wonder  that  my  heart  flames 

To  Saint  Francis,  Saint  Scraggles  and  Saint  James? 


[21] 


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